Better to Have Loved
by Zaran
Summary: On a Cybertron thriving in her Golden Age, a young leader discovers there are some challenges in life even his strength and confidence cannot easily overcome.


_Title: _Better to Have Loved

_Status: _Finished. No waiting for future chapters!

_Warnings: _None. Completely work-safe.

_Introduction:_ I came up with this little bunny some time before the second Bayverse movie in an attempt to piece together a theory I had on how Optimus and Elita found their G1 love in the new storyline. If any of you have seen the Elita One action figure, supposedly only available at Target, you'll understand why Elita was written into this story as she is – that was my only model for her in the Bayverse canon. This was written one year as a Christmas gift for some fellow fangirls of the TF series. It isn't my first TF fanfic, but it is the first one I'll have ever posted here. Hopefully, there will be more to come.

- Dialogue spoken in italics denotes internal communications.

* * *

The Grand Hall, usually silent and vacant save a scant dozen or so mechanoids moving through its many corridors, echoed from one end of the western wing to the other with the sounds of soft speech among friends, laughter and jest in cheery abundance, and a lively piece from one of the local musician groups as the second main attraction of the evening's entertainment underwent preparations off stage. Cybertronians of all shapes and sizes dotted the floor all throughout that quarter of the building, many enjoying a cube of some of the best energon the host and hostess could offer over quiet discussion of the various relics and sculptures and natural wonders from the planet Cybertron and beyond. In the largest viewing chamber, an exceptional crowd could be found admiring the crowned jewel of the evening and the very reason for the gathering: one of the largest, hand-made sculptures the Cybertronian race had ever seen, a portrayal of the Allspark itself. It was impressive, occupying the plaque upon which it would forever sit in the museum's hold and very nearly the entire room - it had been built exactly to scale. The amount of work and care and precision needed to create it was simply astounding, to be sure, but even as he tried to soak himself in that wonder, Optimus Prime found himself slowly, unnervingly distracted. Friends and colleagues surrounding him made quiet comments on anything and everything about the event, business, politics, and Optimus joined them in their small talk comfortably, for all outward appearances. He did not have the heart to admit how dull it seemed in comparison to what gnawed at him, demanded his attention as he wrestled with himself to deny it any.

Finally, an escape presented itself, and as guilty as he felt for accepting it, he leapt for the opportunity. Across the room, one particular Cybertronian caught his gaze, not for the first time that evening, and the silent understanding that passed between them required no words, no gestures to be understood. One pair of optics deviated, located the outer hall, and simultaneously, the two made their excuses and slipped one after the other, unnoticed, out into a second, elegantly decorated chamber. They each took up a space beside the other along one wall, carefully out of the general flow of traffic, away from the bulk of the gathering there.

"Truly fascinating, isn't it?" asked the High Protector in a hushed tone, as if they could stay out of the crowd's attention in his doing so. His gaze moved slowly over the many murals and vases lining the opposite wall with detached interest, enough to keep some form of subtle watch on the goings on around them. Once or twice, another, familiar Cybertronian wandered into his sights, and if their optics met in passing, he offered a kind nod in greeting and little else as was his usual way of acknowledging others around him, thoughts and focus on the mechanoid at his side first and foremost.

Optimus lowered his gaze for but a moment and seemed to examine something on the unoccupied guest table before him. "It is quite amazing," he returned in kind, taking back to idle chatter and meaningless talk with practiced ease, merely a guise to those around them. In words no other could hear, a new conversation began, carried over private frequencies, the subject of which had not before been discussed with any other. With this matter, Optimus would entrust no other to hear his mind.

_"__What ails you?__"_

_"__You know.__"_

_"_… _Yes. I had noticed. Must we exchange these same words again?"_

_"__Perhaps just once more.__"_

_"__Then I shall remind you, just once more. There are things I can do for you, and things I cannot. What will become of your friendship is something you must discover for yourself.__"_

_"__So very silly. All the power of the Matrix and I cannot manage this one simple question.__"_

_"__It is no simple request, but it is only that: a request. There can only be one answer, and it is the one you do not want to hear that stays your vox.__"_

A short silence, a pause.

_"__Can you blame me?__"_

_"__Not for your worry, no, but for your hesitance, always. You and I are not growing any younger.__"_

_"__Truth, but want for time hardly concerns me.__"_

_"__Do you intend to live for all of eternity with this hanging over your head?__"_

On that note of silent unease, their internal talk ended, but as with every time before, the point was made. They continued in this way for a short time, disquieted feelings gradually wearing down in the comfort of each other's mere presence, words and faces passing by them without notice until at once, a small, elegant being stepped into the room followed loosely by three or four others who all but dwarfed the first. Optimus nodded to the femme kindly as she took notice of him and the High Protector; his Spark gave a faint twinge as she separated from her friends with a word or two and weaved her lively way across the floor toward the pair.

"And here I expected to find you both still admiring Cueston's work," Elita One teased, the humor in her voice as clear as the grin crossing her once set features.

The hulking Protector chuckled in his bassy tone and lowered himself to a knee to accommodate her. "Well, we could be, but would we not miss whatever else he has brought with him on _this_ occasion?"

The lithe femme's soft laughter, a far shot across the spectrum from her friend's, came as something light and almost musical to any who heard. She was, as ever, in high spirits; none needed to be told to know it. "Oh, I'm sure even you have time enough to take in everything here before the cycle ends." Elita turned to scan the crowds, and at once, Megatron offered her his hand. After a courteous thanks, the burgundy mechanoid accepted the offer and carefully found her purchase along the seams of the High Protector's frame as she had many times before until he stood, allowing her a comfortable seat upon his broad shoulder. The few who happened to witness did not bother to question it, and others who noticed later did not think enough of it to stare for long. "Though, I suppose it is rather tiring after a while."

"Only if you look at it in the right light," Optimus offered, admiring a particular lighting fixture near them. It earned him a questioning look from both of his companions such that, when he turned and saw them for himself, the sight brought a tint of amused brightness to his optics. He wished they could have seen themselves at that moment, for all their expressions may as well have been mirror impressions of each other, and he told them so. They also found the humor in it, and soon enough, they found themselves pointing out humor in the world immediately around them as well, letting the flow of conversation take them where it would.

Talk angled off from playful banter to anything that popped into their minds, as good friends are wont to do. What one had to say never seemed to bore the other two so much that another distraction was sought; they each had genuine interest in thoughts and gossip and news of the time as told by the others. Alone with themselves, there came times when they would consider the oddities of this friendship, but it could never boil down to any good, solid explanation outside a simple "Maybe it was just meant to be like this" or something on those lines of reasoning.

Beyond the times when they tried to complicate the manner of their friendship, the idea that they had come together as they were was not so strange a thing to wonder over, not to those on the outside looking in. They were the Lord High Protector, the Prime, and a dear friend of the latter who had been at his side long before his position as leader of their kind had taken him over some centuries before. There was even rumor that the three (or at least two) were siblings, in a manner of speaking. That was not entirely untrue in part, but for all the media tried exploit the connection between Protector and Prime, that Optimus and Megatron happened to fall into their rather significant roles in society was, undeniably, completely coincidental. After all, they had not been reared in the same family unit, Lord High Protector had always been decided upon by a vote from the inhabitants of Cybertron, and a Prime was never given a choice once his name was called.

Blame it on conspiracy, blame it on the humor of the Allspark and its counterpart, no matter how it ended, the three were, in every sense of the term, _highly_ anticipated to get along as well as they did, and any which way the coin happened to fall, it worked out perfectly for them. They could not complain, their colleagues could not complain, and neither could the general populace, despite the initial accusatory rumors. What worked for the leaders worked for the world just as well and what worked for the world in turn made the leaders happy. Whatever the means or the cause, they had become nearly inseparable over a short time and all the better for it.

When the director for the evening called their attention back to the podium for a short speech about the main attraction, Megatron decided shortly afterward that he had had enough for the cycle. Once the applause died down, he turned to his friends, quirking one end of his mouth plates in his almost signature way of a smile.

"And on that note, I do believe it is time for me to retire for the evening." Megatron tilted his massive head to the femme perched on his shoulder. "Back to the floor or to your next post, my dear?" The glance he turned on Optimus then earned him a mock glare from his friend, pale blue optics dimming with an accompanying sigh of atmosphere through core vents.

Elita laughed and gave a harmless shove to a panel of armor curving off the Protector's shoulder. If she understood the meaning of that silent exchange, she said not a word of it. "You make me sound so abusive, but I think I'll take back to my own devices, if you don't mind."

With great care, Megatron lowered himself back down to the ground and held out his arm to let the comparatively tiny femme climb her way back down again. Once she had her footing, he straightened and said his farewells. As he turned to leave, he threw his brother a second mild look, one nearly identical to his first and equally as meaningless to any but himself and the Prime, and then disappeared around the corner to wherever the coming cycle would take him. Resigned optics stared after the taller mechanoid until his smaller friend's voice pattern forced him away from his thoughts, and he turned his head to see Elita already walking back toward another corridor, her soft features one thankfully ignorant of his inner turmoil.

Not for the first time in his life did he find himself grateful for his lack of mobile components that could afford him a proper array of facial expressions not unlike those his femme friend enjoyed. He could scarcely maintain his own thoughts sometimes, the trains they would drag him along for rides and laugh at him for his objections when he had time to himself and could afford to let his mind wander. At least they could not betray him to others from within the confines of his processors; he was loathe to consider what questions one odd lift of an optic ridge or tightening of the lip plates he did not possess would raise, and yet, Elita's wide range of expression fascinated him.

Their race was born of and thrived on nothing short of metal and wire and cable; everything they did or thought or created was controlled by a base electrical transmission that pulsed from a central Spark - their very life source - through circuits and protocols and conductive materials to power everything that they were. Even their very voices were not much more than electronic blurbs and squalls and chirps, either externally or internally, and physical speech took place between the fingertips and palms. A smile or a frown was not needed to show happiness or disapproval when such feelings could be conveyed quickly and much more effectively by impressing the sensation directly into another's processors; the need for such an ability was almost silly in concept. But by studying various organic species, Elita One had come to adopt the means, going so far as to make the structural adjustments herself where needed. She had been teased about it, both amicably and otherwise, but she did not let it bother her. She had a new appearance and it was one she had become quite fond of and that was what mattered to her the most. Optimus had to admire her for that.

Over the course of the next few groons, he caught himself every now and again studying her face as he had not just once before, marveling at the freedom and flexibility she possessed there and... _staring_ at her as though something so foreign to his race was as admittedly... attractive as it was, even more so when she fumbled over physical pronunciation of words in her native language that no organic lips could form. It was so very Spark-warmingly endearing of her.

Optimus was not entirely certain why he had fallen in love with her or even when, but he began to recognize the symptoms at some point long after they appeared, and it was during these moments, here and now, when they were at their strongest. It was as an emotional tugging sensation, a clenching within his Spark and mind that told him this being meant to him more than just a friend, more than just a casual companion to meet with at dinners or once-in-a-while get-togethers with mechanoids he had known since his cycles in the Academy, and he felt it only when he was near her, even more deeply when they could find time to be alone together. It was not a physical drive for her touch, although he could not deny to himself that he found her lovely in more than just her essence alone, but more than that, he longed for her presence, her voice and her hand in his. Elita was many things, most of them he knew he could never be, some of them he knew would be hard for him to accept if they became bonded mates, and every bit of it he knew he loved, for friendships and lovers were not meant to be perfect for those who enjoyed them.

It had not taken him any short amount of time, or any few lectures from his brother, to coax him to come to the decision that he wanted her to be his own. Before he had become the guide to his entire race, it would have been easier to simply tell himself "Yes, let's do this" or "No, this isn't what I want" and to live with it, but his Primeship had changed him. During his younger age, he had no concern for much more than what he needed and had not asked for anything more than that. Putting a world of concerns on his plate had altered his life drastically as it had with every Cybertronian called before him. Though he had been given many things since he had been handed the Matrix and told it was his time, Elita was the first he had wanted for his own, the first he had wanted out of more than necessity. Now, the only thing left to decide was how he wanted to approach her with it, and that was proving almost as big a problem as was getting to this point in the first place. Speeches and public appearances were one thing; admitting a deep, passionate love for another was a whole new game, one to which he was a complete stranger.

They wandered halls of the museum for a time, then turned to the outdoors once they had made a full circuit, engaging each other in idle chatter much as they had at the art showing. Having exhausted much of what they could find to say then, there was little left to talk about by the time they reached the crystal gardens, and so much of their time thereafter was spent in companionable silence. Optimus had been doubly careful to keep his thoughts to himself, verbally and physically, debating what he would say, how he would say it. When they stopped to admire a particularly large growth, Elita turned suddenly and looked up at the much larger mechanoid, features bent and curved in what Optimus had come to recognize as something thoughtful - relaxed, but considerate.

"What would you think if I asked you to be my mate?" She may as well have asked him what was the shade of the Foturian Rus system this cycle for all her manner and tone at that moment, and Optimus could only stand and stare at her, this time with no interest in the dynamics of her facial features. She had taken him completely off guard, and for several moments, he stood, alternately and simultaneously confused and nervous. In such a shock, there was no hiding his reaction, and Elita tilted her head, lip plates curved in a small smile. "Hey, you alright?"

Two blue, glowing optics blinked once, twice, and his vox at last returned to him. "I am... fine," the Prime managed, steady enough that he surprised himself. His next words he chose more carefully than any he had before them. "And I... am not sure. What would you say if I told you I would?"

She came back with her response without missing a single beat in that same, seemingly carefree way of hers. Just talking about the stars, nothing more. "I would tell you I'd be happy to have you."

The gray Cybertronian shifted his weight uncertainly after another pause and moved slowly, deliberately to lower himself down to a crouch before her, throwing all caution to the solar winds. "Elita. I want you to realize I was serious when I said that."

Ever playful, but somehow, different. Something had changed in her then, though he could not quite put a name to it, and neither could he deny how desperately he hoped it meant as he wished it would. "I thought you might be."

To quell his rising nervousness, the Prime tried mimicking the femme's attitude, setting a cool edge to his words. In his audials, he pulled it off better than he wanted, but it lacked much of the effect he had imagined it would have. "How did you know?"

At this, the tiny femme tossed back her head and shook with laughter, musical and bemused and everything he loved to hear, back to talking about the stars in the sky above. "Primus, Optimus. I'm not blind. I see the way you look at me when you think I'm not looking back. I knew you were interested in me, I just didn't know to what extent, but I think I have my answer now."

Taken aback - and in no small manner, if the look that passed over the femme's strange, pleasant features was anything to judge by - the Prime blinked his optics, only subconsciously aware that his calm was again slipping, and also, more so than of his composure, that he no longer had any motivation to try and cover his tracks. "This is okay with you?"

"Do you have to ask?"

Hesitation, but with it, a staggering sense of comfort. "No, I suppose not."

Suddenly, they had so much to talk about all over again, and in his giddy relief, Optimus revealed to her everything he had debated, everything he had wrestled with himself and Megatron over the past few stellar cycles. It came more and more easily as the moments passed, more so when, in turn, she shared her confessions with him as well, and they both began to discover their thoughts were not so dissimilar, had not been all along. This was something she, too, had been anxious to see concluded.

Their bonding ceremony did not come until several stellar cycles later, but the cycles that followed were everything he had heard they could be and more. The celebration was held privately, though all of Cybertron spoke of it for vorns afterward, and oh, did the media have a ball with all of it. Rumors became fact, suspicions were confirmed, oh, did the people talk. Optimus discovered he had been right about his happiness with Elita and what all it meant for him, both as a Cybertronian and as a Prime, but for everything he imagined they could be, something else always came around to surprise him anew, and neither of them quite grew tired of it.

As had every partnership before them, they had their ups and their downs, their good and their bad, times when they could never see enough of the other and times when all they wanted was to press their face against a wall and cry out their agony to the universe above, but they were each the other's dearly bonded, and they knew for a certainty that they would never want anything greater.

* * *

_A/N: Used earlier, I found the term "groon" on TF Wikia and thought it an interesting little word. Why I didn't use joor is beyond me – I've seen it often enough in the fandom. They are, more or less, equivalent to about one Earth hour, but eh. Speculations, speculations._


End file.
